


Communication problems

by Vio_lence



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Drama, Female Chara (Undertale), Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Male Frisk (Undertale), OOC, Underswap Chara (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vio_lence/pseuds/Vio_lence
Summary: Neither Chara nor frisk ever suffered from problems or any barriers in dealing with monsters and other people. Until, of course, we met each other.P.S. a short sketch on how to frisk and swap!Chara could find common ground.
Kudos: 2





	Communication problems

Frisk is forced to smile when he meets Chara's eyes.

This girl is so similar to him that it becomes banal scary — _and does not she see him on the screen?_ Her scarlet eyes are bright, her cheeks are flushed with laughter, and the green sweater with the yellow stripe is not faded at all. Her voice is loud and clear. A wide smile clung to her lips-it was always there, as if she had a cramp. Invariably, she says _"Hello"_ to everyone, and adds _"I am Chara"_ to new people.

She is almost always silent in front of him, looks away somewhere, and mumbles something unclear, just not to seem rude. And he's almost glad that the man is trying to stay as close to Blue and Paps as possible.  
Frisk clings to Strech and sans out of the corner of his eye, inwardly burning with envy: their peaceful conversation, understanding looks… He himself could not approach Chara calmly, because he was _afraid_.

And she was _afraid_ , too.

Horror bound the mind like the most sophisticated cell, poisoned the buttercups with poison and they burned. They burned silently but brightly. They burned in _des-pa-ir_.

When he met the scarlet gaze, he saw little — reproach, hatred, and the ashes of a burned world. That's how the monster Princess looked. Reproach for _deadly_ curiosity; Hatred for the death of all — all who were dear to her, who were loved by her, who were lifted up to heaven by her; and the Ashes — gray, disgusting, sticky with soaked blood — were on his hands. The Princess's voice is like a thunderclap; the Princess is his executioner on a scaffold of bones and dust.  
But Chara, this Chara, is not a Princess. Chara is a human, the last and most — he doesn't know for sure — the worst or best for monsters. Chara, who always stayed away from him, was an angel, just like him; an angel of death, who blinded himself out of curiosity.

This spell was the worst of all-the embodiment of his sins with the face of one who had long ago sacrificed herself for her family.

*******

When Chara meets Frisk's gaze, her nails dig into her skin.

She can't see his eyes. They are always hidden under the thin skin of the eyelids and a fan of thick eyelashes. But he feels them burning through the back of his head, as if even his hair is moving with tension. Chara involuntarily fumbles in her pockets for knives, but immediately checks herself — the medallion burns her neck with ice, and the same stick from the beginning of the Ruins hung from her belt, lashing her hip as she walks.  
Frisk has a soft, insinuating voice — but it sounds teasing in every millimeter of the room. Frisk has a lively, mobile facial expression. Frisk has a blue sweater with purple stripes — not shabby, not faded. Just like brand new. When meeting new people, frisk simply nods his head with a faint smile and hastily, as if forgetting about it, adds _"my name is Frisk"._

Chara doesn't know what to do, so she picks up her pace when they're walking in step; gets caught up in the conversations of Napstaton and Mettaton when not-her-Papyrus tries to get them to talk to each other; goes for a walk with Temmie when frisk comes to their house with Flowey.  
Once she even caught their quiet chorus of voices as they watched the huge crowd in one house: _"my God, what idiots."_ Unwittingly, she agreed.

Chara saw herself - in gestures, words, actions. But the face opposite is someone else's. The one whose shadow she didn't want to see for a long time. As much as possible.  
Watching Blue and Paps talk, she felt ashamed and reproachful — she still couldn't bring herself to talk to Frisk, _fearing_ that he was much cleaner and lighter than Chara. That only behind her are wings of dust and golden flowers rubbed together.

Chara doesn't see his smile, just a haughty sneer. This was how the little prince met her. Haughtiness for not keeping her words — first running away, sprinkling the queen's dust on her palms; contempt for being led by voices in her head that fighting monsters is fun. The prince was the last stronghold that held the world; the prince was the embodiment of a Vendetta. But Frisk is not a prince. Not a suicide with Messiah syndrome, sacrificing his soul on the altar of monsters. This Frisk was an angel - maybe death, maybe not. She doesn't know. She doesn't want to know, because she already knows that…

_... this Frisk is the worst of all._

*******

Chara slipped into the archway of the kitchen like a silent shadow, praying to all the famous pantheons that she wouldn't be noticed. The birthday of the two Toriels was a little delayed, the father still couldn't stop talking to the copy of his wife, and she didn't want to leave without him. You never know-even if it's not far to go, but not the most honest people Wake up at night. ~~Just like she once did.~~

Behind the floorboards creaked too loudly for celebraties; too quiet for the other monsters. It usually creaks like this when the Chara is on it. Squeezing the Cup with her fingers, the girl realized how involuntarily her muscles tensed. She knew who was following her, and she wanted to be wrong.

"Chara?"

But, as luck would have it, she was right.

"Yes, Frisk?" she turns to him, smiling broadly. But the corner of my lips is trembling treacherously and my head is like a shot-it has reached its limit. The floorboard creaks, creaks, creaks, and hits him hard on the head. The kettle groaned softly, indicating that it was almost ready to boil. The sound of voices comes from the living room, but nothing else.

It was the first time she'd ever seen his eyes: _scarlet_ , like the stained-glass windows in a church. _They were scarlet, just like the **determination** that ran through their veins like molasses._ His eyes glittered with grim confidence, and Chara knew there was no escape now.

"You're avoiding me," he says, not asking. Yes, and it's stupid to ask: everything is clear and so. The girl begins to run her eyes around the room, not knowing where to go. The spacious kitchen was instantly small and stuffy, so much so that she felt as if Frisk was standing almost directly in front of her. But they are separated by a table. "You… Did You See The First One?"

They both swallow noisily. No matter how much Frisk said it in his mind, it was too much to say his own name like someone else's. Chara's shoulders shuddered and slumped, and a shadow crossed her face. She didn't know if she needed to feel relieved.

Or be upset that even in this they are such similar idiots?

"So you are, too."

Frisk nodded silently, ruffling the unruly swirls even more. Chara let out a chuckle, another, and a third, until she laughed outright, covering her eyes with her hand. And she was afraid. And she tried to believe that it wasn't true. And she was afraid she would get dirty…  
And it turned out that frisk was also stuck in this sand.

The whistle of the kettle distracted them both, and they both turned their heads to the stove with a start. With a soft ouch, Chara flew to it and turned it off. They didn't like the loud sounds, they were too hard on the ears.  
People exchanged glances and smiled.

Chara took a second Cup from the top drawer. The kitchen is no different from the one in she father's underground… Wait, they're at the Frisk family home. "Can we talk over a Cup of tea?"

For the first time, Chara saw Frisk smile — it was him, not the prince, whose grin was as good as buttercup venom intravenously.

"I hope so," Frisk takes a seat on one side of the table, thinking it's not worth getting close yet. The fear isn't gone yet. "My father hasn't drunk all the golden flower tea yet… Or your mother."

Now he did not see the princess, whose looks were as sharp as a true dagger. There Was A Chara. A simple, ingenuous Chara.

And this Chara laughed in a way like no other.

"Surprisingly, no!"

*******

The first person who noticed the disappearance of small children was Strech. He glanced around the room as usual, standing on the balcony, and did not notice the usual striped sweater. Still, monstieur* chooses a very good, almost poisonous-colored yarn for his daughter's sweaters, so that it can be immediately noticed in the crowd in case of loss. Right now, all I could see was the photo on the mantel, and my jaw was set in an unpleasant grin. Their Chara doesn't look like this princess, their Chara doesn't look like anyone else.  
And that's what Sans thinks about his little one. The two of them tried to restrain themselves when the two scientists and the guard Captains discussed the exact opposite.

"No kid either," Sans squints, understanding Strech without even looking at him. Strech, to be honest, absolutely does not care about Frisk; Sans, by the way, is also up to the moon to Chara. But they like to talk to each other. And you can talk about everything in the world, even if the topic is absolutely indifferent to one of them.

"Hmm, it's been a long time since I raised a child," the tall skeleton muttered as he stubbed out his cigarette. Then he noticed the other's wary gaze. Papyrus chuckled. "No, Blue was obedient. But Chara likes to walk until eleven o'clock."

And this at the age of fourteen. Sometimes Strech gets uneasy when he thinks about what time he will come when he gets older. But no, it's not. Will she ever come back?  
Sans snorted, hiding a satisfied smile. Well, their man was a little too docile. And hard-headed. He took everything seriously. For example, when the old lady told him a joke about tiles, he was barely caught. Let's check it out, motherfucker.

Laughter came from the half-open kitchen window. Loud enough to make Sans wince. Sounds like hysterical laughter. Chara didn't know how to control her emotions, which was probably the only thing he liked about the girl. Maloy was stingy with them, the skeleton noticed some rudiments in the Chara, but It quickly crushed them in itself, noticing the attention of a friend.  
Strech let out a loud sigh, also squinting in that direction. His whole appearance said that he did not have to look for small fidget around town. You can be lazy.

"Decided to talk?" he quirks an eyebrow at the edge of his blue sweater. Such a pale color, if you don't look for it, you won't see it. The Sansa shrugs, but waving his hand. "Consonant. It's about time."


End file.
